


Destination: Zenith

by randomkidlol



Series: Altitude [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Action/Adventure, Coming of Age, Dramedy, Gen, Nuzlocke Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomkidlol/pseuds/randomkidlol
Summary: A young man and his tired old Bronco take a roadtrip around Sinnoh.As he accumulates more and more miles on the odometer travelling from city to city, he will learn what it's like to truly live a full life.--A slightly older man sits down with friends to watch a film documenting a young man's exploits.As the film progresses, he reminisces more and more on a similar journey that he himself had tackled, not too long ago.





	1. The Million Dollar Jump

Responsibility’s a bitch.  
  
What do I mean by that?  
  
Representing a whole region. While it consists mostly of doing media appearances, there’s a lot of them that I have to get out of the way. The life I live these days consists travelling back and forth between every town that has a League-certified Gym at least once a week. Oh, plus taking a plane to Hoenn, Kalos, Kanto, and Unova – all in one go - on some of the days that I don’t have appearances to make within Sinnoh. To add to that, keeping up an image for the public eye – though more an inconvenience than actual hardship, it’s still pretty damn annoying. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This is the life I worked nine months straight away from home for. It’s what I wanted. More than anything.  
  
But – it’d be nice to leave the suit in the closet, put some loose jeans on, and unwind somewhere remote and quiet every once a while.   
  
Today is Friday, September 22nd. I’m supposed to be at Lumiose City in Kalos at this time, but here I am, back in my old two-storey in Twinleaf, because the G500 jet they usually fly me in had an electronic defect the crew only discovered this morning. I’ve got no idea what that defect is, but goddamn, am I relieved it crippled the plane down when it did. My old buddy Alex has the day off for today, and I’m stoked to get back on the dunes with him for the first time since March’s TriLakes festival down here in Twinleaf, Pastoria, and up at Snowpoint. Which was, by the way, wild. Almost got me in a ‘dating’ scandal with Gardenia, too, but hey – people believe whatever they want to.  
  
I walk out of the house. The sun is still present somewhere up in that purple sky, but is fading more and more by the second. There isn’t much daylight left to burn, and yet I’d done nothing but lounge around in my room watching old episodes of Top Gear for this rare free day. I mean, hey, Mom and Dad are out of the region, what else could I do here?   
  
Nevertheless, I ought to get moving. I put on my khakis, and slip on my blue sweater – my favourite, especially for the fall. Up until two years ago, I used to bring it with me everywhere. I then turn my head to another corner of the closet – one that I’d only ever touch for special occasions. Then I take my old racing helmet and gloves out from the closet – they smell like dried-up sweat and are about as dusty as that one TV back in that chateau near Eterna. How long have these been sitting here?  
  
I call Alex up, and he lets the dial tone repeat itself thrice before he picks up.  
  
“I was starting to think you’d bail on me,  _Champ_.” Alex remarks.

“Hell no!” I retort. “You think I’d let today slip by without dropping by the dunes?”  
  
“If you did, I woulda fined you ₽100 million. Hell, you still owe me ₽11 million.”  
  
“Oh, please, you’ve got enough people to freeload off of.”  
  
“Hey, if I’m going to do it, I’m going to freeload off of the  _Champ_  himself.”  
  
“I’m not as loaded as you think I am, smartass. Why don’t you ask Cheryl?”  
  
“Bro, shut the fuck up.” Alex then paused.  
  
“Go on.” I smirk.  
  
“Whatever. You swinging by, or what?”  
  
“Don’t you have your own truck?”  
  
“Not today. She’s over at Oreburgh getting an oil change and a few bushings replaced. So I’m riding shotgun in the Bronco, and you’ve got no choice on that.”  
  
“Are you sure? Because the last time you did, you-”  
  
“No, no, I’m a changed man now, my friend. I’ve been practicing, y’know?”  
  
“Where? Canalave Love Tunnel? Amity Park’s swingset?”  
  
“Fuck you, man. Just for that, I’m fining you ₽15 million.”  
  
“You’ll need it just to keep that damn Toyota of yours running for the next two years.”   
  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. More money to spend, more money to make, L.”  
  
“You keep telling yourself that.” I look over at my old college fund jar on my desk. Looks like it was never needed, in hindsight. “I’m going to go get ready to drag your ass over to Verity. See ya.”  
  
“Five minutes, or I’m adding to your debt.” Alex hangs up.  
  
I make my way down to the garage. There, parked on the faded grey concrete floor, was my personal truck – a ‘96 Bronco, a two-tone baby blue-and-white example. It’s been with me for over four years now, and it’s the same truck I used to get around all of mainland Sinnoh two years ago. Modifications? Of course, but I wouldn’t go too deep into the technical ends of the data sheet. All you need to know that it has an engine the size of a healthy Mamoswine equipped with a truck’s snorkel for driving through deep bodies of water – pulls the stout little box like a champ on any surface, rain, shine, and snow. That powerplant is complemented by the Bronco’s taller-than-factory suspension setting and studded rubber on all four corners – for all seasons.  
  
If these types of trucks could have their own homegrounds, this one would call Lake Verity’s coast its home, considering that it’s the closest place for off-roading shakedowns to my hometown. Though, even if that lake has its own colourful history and reputation (and I would know), I wouldn’t give it that label. The Bronco, I feel, it’s been built to trek across the whole region and make all of it its home. But Lake Verity is where I’m taking out for a stroll at this moment, so I may as well let that argument sit for a while. Besides, it’s not like I can take it out anywhere as easily as I used to. Over the years, it’s grown famous simply because I drove everywhere I needed to go back in the day. And now you see replicas all over the road with ‘CHAMP’ custom plates.  
  
It’s flattering in a way… I guess.  
  
The Bronco’s no back road champ like a Miata, and certainly isn’t as comfortable and confidence-inspiring as a Mustang, but it’s something I put together with my own hands. It’s something I’ve gone places and reached achievements in. Whenever I climb (yes, climb, not step) into the truck, a flame of gratification and fulfilment brings a certain warmth to my psyche.  
  
I climb into the truck and start it up – and this time is no different from any other time I turn the key. The big V8 awakens with a deep growl. Its voice hasn’t changed since the last time I took it out for a spin – Dad’s taken care of it pretty well. I step lightly onto the pedal, and the 351 cubic-inch monster responds with a loud bellow that reverberates through the walls.  
  
_Hope they didn’t hear that._  I smile to myself. She’s still got it. All that torque’s just begging to be put to the ground to dart the truck forward. I cruise my hand over to the gear knob, put it in D, and drive off to Alex’s place.  
  
As I said I would, within five minutes and I’m at his driveway. He’s already drumming his fingers all over his forearms. How long did he think I’d take? Before I could think up an answer, he’s already making his stride to the Bronco climbing in lesser time than it takes to puff cigar smoke out of your mouth.  
  
“Took you four minutes, thirty-four.” He immediately stated, as soon as he buckled up.  
  
“You didn’t need to count.” I shrug, pulling out of his driveway.  
  
“That’s no way to treat your best pal, now is it?” he subtly winks.  
  
“You mean driving you over to the dunes to horse around like drunk teenagers, free of charge?”  
  
“Of course! Hell, you should be paying me to ride shotgun!” Alex cried, hands up in the air with a grin.  
  
“I missed you too, man.” I cackle. Of course he did. “Where would you be without me?”  
  
“Me? Without you?” He leaned forward, away from the backrest. “On a hot date, that’s for sure.”   
  
“Well, guess what? You’re here now, idiot. With me.” I smirk, shifting down to second.  
  
“The hell are you think-”  
  
I stepped on it, and the tach needle shot up from 2000 to 5000. The Bronco shot ahead, and the rest of the world around grows blurrier each second I keep my foot to the floor. Alex? He’s now right back on the backrest he slouched away from, and he’s fucking clinging to it.  
  
“ **Hey! S-Slow down, Leroy!** ” he gasps. “ **Please!** ”  
  
Never gets old.  
  
I let up, on the gas, shifting back to D. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” I wink.  
  
He sighs, and catches his breath. He shakes his head, turning away. Always the type to act all headstrong in the driver’s seat, yet the first to back off once he rides shotgun. That’s Alex to you.  
  
Several minutes later, we had made our way out of Twinleaf – we’ve reached the T-road leading to the 201 and the Lakefront. We turn left, and turn into the newly-paved asphalt path leading to Lake Verity. I’d heard of it in passing while I was away, but tonight is the first time I’ve actually managed to travel along it.  
  
“Say, Alex. When’d they open this road?” I ask, scanning the rest of the road ahead of the Bronco.  
  
“Just last month. Why?”  
  
“They’re already starting urbanization on this side of Sinnoh, huh…”  
  
“I guess. Why?” Alex turns his eyes to me. “Is that a bad thing?”  
  
“Yes. And… no.” I let out a sigh. “I guess I just miss the old path in the clearing.” That old path in the clearing was narrow enough for anyone who wasn’t paying attention to write it off as just another lonely patch in the forest, yet defined enough for the more keen-eyed hiker travelling to Verity Lake.  
  
Or at least, how it was two years ago.  
  
“I get that. But y’know how it goes. You see it happen every time a lake or something like it catches on with tourists.”  
  
“I don’t like where it’s going. As nice it is to drive on, it’s a sign. Sooner or later, they’re going to add streetlamps and guardrails along these edges. And before you know it….”  
  
“Sandgem 2.0. With 100% less sand.”  
  
“Yup. Seems like you’re only safe from urbanization if you live in a place called Solaceon or Celestic.”  
  
About four minutes passed. We’ve reached the entrance to Verity’s lakeside recreational area, and are lining up behind other trucks – also here for horsing around on the soil – to register for a two-hour long session. And let me tell you – Verity Lake’s been a much livelier place to be since everything happened two years ago. The guardian’s chamber’s been a permanent fixture in the scenery, especially for tourists looking for a relatively quiet corner in Sinnoh to lodge into at Verity’s lakeside. Spring is Verity’s peak season – everyone enjoys the view of the lake’s clear waters reflecting the lush vegetation surrounding it, and because of that, traffic clogs the hell out of the 201 and 202 because of everyone driving over to have a spot over at the lakeside lodges and motels up on the north side. Likely why the Lakefront Path was turned into a back road. As for the rock crawling and dune-hopping nutcases (like yours truly), they have their own corner up on the southwest end of the whole Lakefront, and that’s where we’ve brought my crawler for the afternoon’s bout of mudding.  
  
The hillier southwest is always a joy to put trucks to the test on. Part of it’s been set aside for beginners – you’ll mostly see them in old D21 Nissans shipped in from Johto Auto Works spitting dirt as they try pushing their pickups to the limit(They often forget to install mudguards.). The main attraction for this side of the dunes is the banked figure-eight. Always a ton of fun to watch – I’d envy them if I didn’t already have the Expert’s Section to kick some dirt up on for myself and a few other friends over from Twinleaf. Understandably, not much people make it up to that level – the dunes here are for trucks with over $30,000 worth of mods and drivers clocking over 100,000 miles on the dirt alone. Most people don’t have neither the time nor the luxury to put into reaching that level. Two years ago, I only had the miles and none of the resources to soup the Bronco up to speed. How’d I get the money? Funny you should ask.  
  
But that’s a story to tell for another time.  
  
Because now, it’s time to rack up the cash to pay at the local car wash, and get this thing on the mud.  
  
“So when do you plan on sticking a supercharger on this thing?” Alex asks me, as the Bronco rolls into the oversized sunken mud cake.  
  
“Dude, the engine’s thirsty as it is,” I answer.  
  
“Dude, if you wanted a sipper you wouldn’t have picked the ‘ol 351.”  
  
“Coming from the guy who needs a turbo to keep up with it. How much power are you even making with it?” No replacement for displacement, as they all say.  
  
“That’s not important. It pulls hard, too, y’know.” He shrugs. “And hey…. At least I don’t need to drive out to Oreburgh every time I need to fill up, Mr. 93-Octane.”  
  
“Oh, I hope you’re ready to feel the pulls this time.” I put on my helmet and gloves, arching a brow. “Sure didn’t seem like it earlier.”   
  
“You bet your pay on that, L.” Alex nods vigorously, helmet shaking back and forth with every move he made. What a ridiculous guy.  
  
“What, all ₽1 million of it? You can have it, I’ve got at least twenty times of that now!”  
  
“Fine. We’ll call that dirt ramp over there the million-dollar jump. If I can get make it without a squeal – you, my friend, are going to make me the second-richest man in Twinleaf.” Alex cockily winks.   
  
“Don’t expect me to clean your piss from the seat, brother.” I shift into low gear, and position the truck to take the jump. “Any last words?” I asked.  
  
“I’m  **RICH**!”  
  
I mash the pedal to the floor, and the Bronco takes off, then rushes toward the dirt at the speed of something only a Rapidash would give chase to (trust me,  _I know_ ). The resulting noise? A burly roar of a coasting giant coming to life, its extremities flexing against the ground, and  _possibly_  a gasp from something not quite as intimidating to my right. Not quite a scream or a squeal just yet, but from what little of what I could see, his hands are almost glued to the damn clamp bars and he’s doing his best to keep his lips shut.  
  
The Bronco picks up speed – 30 mph, 40, 50 – and when the big brown thing was no further than several inches away from the hood, the front end sprung upward, then the rear, and then the front end lost contact with the ground, and so does the rear.   
  
The truck’s gone airborne. Even if it was only going to last for barely a second. That lone second up there - it was enough to plaster a big ol’ grin on my face. It's as if I’d had my mom watching and wanted to say ‘Look! No hands!’ As for Alex? Probably made the usual mouth agape, eyes swung wide open type of face. And unlike the truck’s defiance of gravity, these two expressions remained long after the Bronco planted itself back on the dirt with a resounding, yet smooth, and sure-footed thud. I put the brakes on the truck, and put it to a stop.  
  
Not a peep from Alex.  
  
But he was panting heavily – his chest rising and sinking back and forth, pupils dilated. Then his breathing slowed, and his eyes narrowed. He began to crack a smile, and slowly turned to face me.  
  
“You okay?” I ask.  
  
His eyes grow wide once more. “I’m… I’m… I’m  **RICH**!” he grins.  
  
I sigh. “You did it. Congrats.” I say, dumbfounded. At this point I didn’t even want to find out how the same guy who pleaded me to quit going full throttle on an actual road kept his mouth shut after a 55 mph flight. As short as it was.  
  
And this is coming from someone who’s been on the wrong end of a waterfall flowing upward.  
  
“Heh! You’ve got till next Friday to hand me the cash.” Alex proceeds to snap fingers in both hands, right in my face. “Midas touch, baby.”  
  
The clip strapping my phone to the dashboard begins buzzing. I pick it up, putting the truck back into neutral.  
  
“Who’s that?” he momentarily puts the brakes to his money-talk. Even now, he’s still got his notoriously short attention span.  
  
“Unknown caller. Huh.” I mutter.  
  
“You answering that?”  
  
I pick it up.  
  
“Hello? Who’s this?”  
  
“Hello! We’ve got a package for someone at your address. Twinleaf 02, right?”  
  
“Yeah. No one was home?”  
  
“Nope. This package is… for… uh,  _Champ_. It’s a DVD.”  
  
Champ? Could’ve been from anyone fishing for an autograph to sell.  
  
“A DVD?”  
  
“Yes – it was addressed from… the Pokemon League HQ. Ooh.”  
  
“Do you have the sender’s name?”  
  
“Er… All it says here is that it’s from the League Office.”  
  
I pause, for what seems to be long enough for the guy on the other line to check up on me. “Sir, will you accept the package, or not?”  
  
I turn to Alex, still facing me, his forehead puckered.  
  
“Uh… yeah, okay. Yes... I’ll take it.”  
  
“OK – we’ll drop it off at your mailbox. Thank you, have a nice afternoon!”  
  
“Yeah…” I hang up.  
  
“Who was that?” Alex asks, having recollected his bearings.  
  
“Delivery man.”  
  
“What’s he got?”  
  
“Let’s just say that you and I... maybe with a few more of our friends… we are sitting down for movie night tonight.” I reply.  
  
“Wait, what? What movie?”  
  
“I don’t think it’s a movie. More like… say, a compilation of battles caught on camera. Or something like a documentary.” I purse my lips, and avoid Alex’s eyes.  
  
“Ooh. Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. Whose battles?” he continued. “Alder’s? Diantha’s? Steven’s?”  
  
“No. None of them.” I shake my head.  
  
“Then who?”  
  
I turn to face him.  
  
“Me.”


	2. The Letter

The Bronco pulls into the garage. Just two hours on the mud, and all the nice detailing work I did is all but gone now. Great. Its underside is all smeared with mud and dirt that drips onto the concrete floor.  
  
 _Ah, fuck me._  Since Alex is here, I could have him lend a hand in spraying all the Diglett turd off the damn thing.  
  
But that’s something that could wait. Maybe even ‘till tomorrow.  
  
“I’ll go get the mail.” I pull the key out of the column, stepping out of the truck.  
  
“Wait up!” Alex leaps off his seat. “Should I turn the lights on?”  
  
“Nah, leave it.” I pace out of the garage. The sun has now all but retreated into the west, and the few street lamps lining the roads of Twinleaf were now glimmering in the distance. That doesn’t make it any harder to identify the mailbox – I mean, it’s bright red. Even a damn Zubat would recognize it.  
  
“You opening that, or what?”  
  
“Well what if I don’t?”  
  
“Ain’t my problem,  _Champ_.” Alex shrugs.  
  
“Fine.” I fiddle around with my old-ass keychain and find the mailbox’s key, a faded bronze, round-headed type. Probably the original one, too. I stick the key into the hole and turn it.  
  
The cover flops down, revealing a small paper bag that’s taped shut. It’s sandwiched between other letters within the container. Likely fanmail from people who know that I still stay in this house. I grab the paper bag – it’s hard and rectangular. I walk back to Alex, package in hand.  
  
“Here,”  
  
“Where’s your excitement, L?”  
  
“This might not even be it, you know?”  
  
“I don’t know,  _maaaaybe_  you could try unwrapping it?”  
  
I pierce the paper with my nails, and peel a handful of it away from the package, exposing whatever was inside – a small bit of it, at least – to the moonlight.  
  
And then it turns out to be a bit dark out here. Just a bit, but it’s already too dark to see any of it clearly. “Can you see any of it?” I show Alex the torn bag.  
  
He squints, then hands it back to me. “It’s glossy. That’s all I see.”  
  
“Right. So none of us can see shit out here.”  
  
“Yeah, speak for yourself. It ain’t hard to see  _you_.” He begins laughing at this, as if it’s any funnier than the rest of his supposed ‘wisecracks’.  
  
“Motherfucker,” I retort, walking over to the front door, and unlocking it. “You coming in, or what?”  
  
“Gimme a sec, brother.” Alex walks over to the garage door, slamming it shut. “Alright, let’s go.”  
  
The house… how do I describe it? For someone who does what I do it’s not as fancy as you’d expect it to be. It’s more or less a basic Twinleaf design – L-shape, two-storey, Coronet Pine roof, and reinforced concrete is left to everything else. Furniture? The usual fare, all in the right places – save for additional sets of League merchandise dotted around the place. It’s only two years old, but I’ve lived here for all my twenty-three birthdays.  
  
Anyways.  
  
As soon as I flick the living room’s lights on, Alex – Okay, imagine a Monferno blurring over from one point to another by using Mach Punch. Remove the punch, substitute point A with the front doorway, and substitute point B with my living room’s sofa set. There. Now you have Alex blinking onto a cushy seat within two seconds.  
  
“C’mon, c’mon, unwrap it!” he calls.  
  
“Hush.” I grin. I walk to the sofa while ripping the package out of the bag.  
  
And the heralded cover comes to light. It’s still glossy as fuck.  
  
“Nice.” Alex remarks.  
  
In the cover’s center, there’s a gear-shaped badge in the colour scheme of a Poke Ball. Within the gear? The words ‘Destination Zenith’ in big bold letters filling up the upper half of the circle. Opposite of that, the words ‘Champion Leroy’ in smaller print. The background is a still of my Bronco speeding down what looks vaguely like the Veilstone Expressway at sunset.  
  
“Of all the pictures you could’ve slapped on the cover…” I mutter, slouching back on the sofa. In case you want to know how fast I was going, that was at least 20 above the 80 MPH limit.  
  
“Hey, hey, lemme see!” Alex snatches the cover.  _Eager fuck._  He puts it down on the table, rubbing his index finger all over the cover and stroking his chin with his other hand.  
  
He turns his head back to me. “You and your love for that damn truck. You put ‘em up to this, didn’t you?”  
  
“Hell no.” I didn’t even think they’d go through with this. Not  _this_  soon, at least. It took them five years to make Cynthia’s, so why hold my breath? “Besides, you know what I would’ve put on there for the cover art?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Me kicking your ass in the League.” Something he was never going to live down. Ever.  
  
“You fuckwad!”  
  
“I bet you like being the only one who gets to call the Champ a fuckwad.” I grin cheekily.  
  
“So, what, it’s a privilege now?”  
  
“Yeah, it is. So be grateful, asshole.”  
  
“Whatever, brother.” Alex reaches for his pocket. “If we’re watching this, we’re watching this with the crew.”  
  
I sneer. “What, you mean  _Cheryl_?” I head over to the fridge.  
  
Alex shakes his head. “No,” he answers, no bells and whistles sprinkled into it.  
  
I grab a bottle of Celadon Lemon Fizz and a pack of potato chips from the cupboards. “Your loss, brother.”  
  
“C’mon, L, drop me some names!” Alex then eyes what I’m carrying, leaning his head forward. “Maybe a bit of that too…”  
  
“I thought you hated sour cream.”  
  
“Nah. Remember – changed man and soon-to-be millionaire right here.” Alex slyly winks, pointing to himself. Just going to keep asking for it, isn’t he?  
  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I throw him the bag, and set the soda down on the table. “Try Roark. He’s off tonight, isn’t he?”  
  
“Yeah, but…” Alex waves his hands in front of his nose.  
  
“I know. Tell him to take a fucking shower if he plans on showing up.”  
  
Alex chuckles. “Shit, has he ever tried smelling himself?”  
  
Have you ever been on a tour to Castelia City that led you through the sewers? Because for some dumb-ass reason, the only way to access the city garden is to go right through the city’s asshole. God, if you’ve done that, you’ll know just how bad our friend…. smells.  
  
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to sniff that hard hat ever again.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, right. Who else?”  
  
“Olivia.”  
  
“Doesn’t she have to practice for the Hearthome Open?” Alex pops the bag open. “She’s got only two days left till then, man.”  
  
“Can’t hurt to try.” She was there to see most of how everything began, after all. Wouldn’t be the same without her.  
  
“Right.” Alex nods. “Want some?” he hands me the bag of chips.  
  
“Nah, I’m good.” I take the cover back from the table. I reach for my phone, scroll through my contact list. Mostly filled with old friends and acquaintances. But there’s one name that sticks out of the rest.  
  
 _Cynthia…_  
  
I look back at Alex. “Hey… what if I call Cynthia up?” I eye the back of the cover. All the usual blurbs are present – y’know, adventure, drama, coming-of-age, all that bullshit. But it’s the background that catches my eye. It’s a shot of a somewhat disheveled young man, facing away from the camera. He’s walking towards Sinnoh’s League Champion – two years ago, at least – Cynthia Chevalier, in a stadium that could hold two Wailord comfortably.   
  
Alex takes a bite. “You serious?”  
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Nothing. You know… just her being Cynthia and all.” He puts the bag down. “You think she’ll even answer?”  
  
“I’m calling, Alex.”  
  
“Suit yourself,  _Champ._ ” Alex smirks, grabbing the bag.  
  
The dial tone rings twice.  
  
“Hello?” A familiar voice says over the line.  
  
“H-hey.”  _Shit, shit, shit. Stop that, Leroy. Stop._  
  
“Leroy! Haven’t heard from you in a while – what’s up?”   
  
“Uh…” I glance at the DVD. Alex is already giggling with a handful of chips stuffed up his ugly piehole. “I got my collection in the mail tonight.”  
  
“Oh! That’s great! Gosh, you know just how long I had to wait for mine. Ugh.” She paused. “Are you going to watch it?”  
  
“Y-yeah. Uh, y’know, I was thinking…”  _Fucking hell._  
  
Alex raises an eyebrow. “ _Smooth!_ ” he mouths.  
  
I turn away from his flavour of encouragement. “Hmm?” she then prompts.  
  
“Maybe… you could come over and watch with us? Are you in Sinnoh?”  
  
 _Please be in Sinnoh.  
  
Please._  
  
“Well, why not? I’m shopping in Jubilife right now, I could probably make it in an hour or two.”  
  
I feel a smile spreading across my face. Which, by the way, is great. “Really? That’s great!”  
  
“Sure, sure!” Cynthia pauses, amidst beeping noises and music. “O-oh, ₽1000? Okay.”  
  
“You paying?”  
  
“Yeah, sorry about that. Catch up with you later, Leroy.”  
  
“See ya,” I hang up.  
  
I place my phone down on the table. “Guess I’ll make room for one more.” I smile.  
  
“Fucking hell, you’re hopeless.” Alex laughs, slumping deeper into the couch. “Unbelievable.”  
  
Which is rich, coming from him.  
  
“Yeah, well let’s see you do that with Cheryl. Pussy.” I rise up off the couch, walking back to the cupboard.  
  
“Touche,” Alex glances in my direction, nodding slowly. “Asshole!”  
  
I throw him four extra bags of chips – plain salt, spicy, barbeque, and cheese, in that order. One hit his head, the other two he completely misses, the last one is the only bag he catches.  
  
He inhales deeply. “I repeat –  _Asshole_.”  
  
“You can have all the salt you want, but the spice is mine.” I slither back to the sofa set, with another bottle of soda pop in hand.  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” He places the bags he missed on the table. “Can we get on with the Pokestar Studios production now?”  
  
I eye the DVD once more. I split the cover open – and a piece of folded paper drops out of it.  
  
I unfold it, and inspect it.  
  
 _To Leroy:_  
  
If you are reading this, then that means you have received our gift. This DVD.  
  
Besides that, there is also something I would like to share with you. It is from the first true book I read, back when I was your age. The book’s title is ‘The Avatar of Speed’ – I suggest you pick a copy up while you still can.  
  
‘There is no eternal winner. And there will never be one. Nothing is final. Some will let go, and some will keep going. And that is all there is to it.’  
  
For Sinnoh – no, rather: For all of us, I want you to keep going for as long as you are capable.  
  
Thank you.  
  
-Lucian Wingates  
  
“The hell is that?” Alex blurts.  
  
“Nothing. Just a thank-you letter from a friend.” I reply, folding the paper back into the form as it was dropped off and returning it to its spot.  
  
“Eh? Okay, but how about watching this damn thing?”  
  
I look back at the letter. Then, the disc adjacent to it.  
  
“Fine. Let’s do it.”


	3. Ignition

“Hey man,” Roark begins, “When I said your ass needed a haircut, I meant it.” he pauses the clip. He points at a certain hairball looking lost somewhere in Sandgem's Center district.   
  
It’s me. Of course it’s me.  
  
“Could’ve paused earlier than that, dude.” I look away from the screen. This is worse than looking back on a high school yearbook…  
  
“I tried not to, man. I tried.” He shrugs, with a smirk. “But look at that wild, shiny mane. Just, just - just look at it!” Roark continues gushing, over whoever the fuck it is on-screen. Because that’s not me, no sir, nope. I don’t know him!  
  
“Yeah, go fuck yourself,” I hiss, shaking my head. Roark giggles, and deep inside I know this is his way of masking his jealousy. It’s all because his daddy never let him grow his hair past his ears.  
  
Olivia then puts her bag of chips down. “M'kay, confession time.” She stands up, her mouth still slightly filled with cheese-flavoured snacks.   
  
“Hold on! Hold. On.” Alex cuts her off. He then points to her mouth. “Swallow that, woman!”   
  
Olivia rolls her eyes, then gulps.  
  
Roark chuckles. “Let the woman speak.”  
  
I glance up at her.  
  
“So, remember when we met up that week?” she starts, flashing a smile.  
  
Huh. Why would she bring that up now? “Yeah, sure. What about it?” I answer.  
  
She points at the grease monkey on the screen. One of the two, at least. “I wanted to ask you if that was a wig.”  
  
Roark and Alex almost spit their soda. They high-five, then point to each other with agreeing nods.  
  
Dicks.  
  
“Oh, fuck off.” My forehead puckers, and I shake my head. “Why, though?”  
  
Olivia eyes me, as if I should already know the answer to this. “Your locks used to be as shiny as a stack of new pennies, dear. It looked natural too!” She twirls her hair with her index finger, as if to taunt me and my lack of a mane in the present day.  
  
Let it be known that because shit like this was bound to happen, the decision to trim my hair into a flat-top was mine.  
  
“What the- No! It wasn’t that bad!” is the only response I bring myself to muster.  
  
“It’s okay, man. Denial’s the first step.” Alex pats my shoulders… with the same hand he’s been using to eat his chips.  
  
_Sometimes_  I wonder how this smartass became my best pal.  
  
“Let’s see about that, Leroy. Let’s see.” Roark grabs the remote, makes sure to point at that fucking hairdo one last time, and presses play.  
  
\-----  
  


A violet Mercedes sedan – an S-Class, to be exact – travelled along a makeshift road of smoothened grassland. The road, seemed to have only been used by farmers and merchants, for the only other vehicles that passed the Benz on the road were tricycles and light-duty trucks. As such, traffic was scarce, and the ride was smooth. As smooth as it could get on grassland.  
  
It was a clear afternoon – the clouds were few and far between, the sky was the perfect shade of baby blue. A lovely Tuesday to take the day off from work and create recipes for oneself to indulge in. Or perhaps, paint a picture of the world as viewed from one’s own eyes.  
  
If you were anything like the Benz’s main guest, you’d spend this type of day on a porch, book in hand. His eyes would shift from left to right from page to page until sunset. However, on that day, he was nowhere near home. He was  _nowhere_ , in a place barely ever documented: The southwestern tip of Sinnoh.  
  
What for?  
  
Work.  
  
“Mr. Wingates, are you sure we’re not lost?” the chauffeur asked the man on the back seats.  
  
The passenger adjusted his glasses, and looked out the window, eyeing each tree like words printed on a page. He then looked down to a snippet of information laid out on his phone. An address, and the description of the path leading to it.  
  
“I’m certain,” was Mr. Wingates’s reply, re-adjusting his violet-framed glasses, resting his elbow on the posh armrest. “In fact, we’re close. Quite.”  
  
“Uh… sure, boss,” the driver skeptically replied.  
  
“Follow the path,” the passenger ordered.  
  
The car turned left, and the trees began to dissipate. First, a blank horizon – perhaps an endless clearing – but the car continued, and soon, one could see houses of uniform shape up ahead, closing in on a settlement.  
  
‘Twinleaf Town’, the sign greeted.  
  
Wingates pointed to his temple. “Told you.”  
  
The driver gulped. “Well… do you know who we’re looking for here? Or where they live?”  
  
The passenger scanned through his notes. “If I’m not mistaken… Clark Way, number six.”   
  
After several minutes, the Mercedes, reached the house. It was like any other house – L-type, wood and concrete construction. Not much fuss here, except for the open garage containing a blue Ford truck. Someone was working on its underside, as far as Wingtates could see from within the Mercedes’ tinted windows. They were too engrossed to notice the Benz pulling up.  
  
The Mercedes stopped. “Is this the one?” the chauffeur then asked.  
  
Wingates eyed the number to the side of the house’s front door.  
  
6.  
  
“Yes.” He adjusted his glasses. “It is.” He put his phone back into his pocket, and stepped out of the Benz. Wingates then walked to the house’s front door.  
  
He pressed on the doorbell, and at that moment, a yelp came from within the garage. A grease-stained Chimchar ran to the front door. It eyed Wingates with dilated pupils, and inched closer. It then tugged on his shoes repeatedly, until someone answered the door. A woman.  
  
“Oh, Lucian!” the woman greeted. She then eyed the Chimchar, still tugging on the visitor’s shoes. “Lia, back! Back in the garage!” It reluctantly turned away, and went back to where it emerged from.  
  
Lucian smiled, bemused. “Hello, Hannah,” he murmured, picking up the scent of pastries fresh off the oven. Probably explained the apron’s presence. “Is your son home?” He rubbed his feet on the rug, then stepped inside.  
  
“For now,” Hannah answered, closing the door. She then paced over to the counter, and collected a tray. Blueberry muffins. The family favourite. “So you passed over Sandgem already, huh?” She placed the muffins down on the living room’s table,   
  
Wingates cleared his throat. “No one in Sandgem was interested, unfortunately.” He took a seat on the sofa.  
  
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Hannah smiled. She took a bite from a muffin.  
  
“That’s not a question for me to answer,” came Lucian. He then looked into Hannah’s eyes, eyebrows raised. “Well, for you, possibly,” he then mused, ever so slightly flashing a smirk.  
  
Hannah hummed gleefully. “Oh, Lucian. Loosen up! You know Twinleaf’s got potential, right?”  
  
“Perhaps.” Lucian pursed his lips. Hannah always was the type to talk herself up. Even if, often, she could back all her talk up, he still couldn’t help feeling strangely uncomfortable whenever she did. He gingerly placed his phone on the table. “You do know all the details, right?”  
  
“Oh, of course I do.” She lightly laughed.   
  
“Are you sure your son can handle it? On such short notice?”   
  
Hannah turned her head in the direction of the garage. Her eyes narrowed, and her glee had been all but replaced by a slight frown.  
  
“Honestly, I don’t know. I mean… he has a job.” Hannah put the muffin back on the tray. “And, I mean… that’s great and all, but…”  
  
Wingates eyed the muffin closest to him. He was hungry, but Lucian was, and still is the very definition of ‘understatement’ on a pair of legs. “But what?”  
  
Her forehead contracted. She knew her son could hear her at this distance. But that was only if he was paying any attention to the world outside the garage. “He’s been stuck in a cycle. Ever since he dropped out of Jubilife U, he’s been working for his father in Oreburgh part-time. The money he earns from that, he spends on topping up that damned truck. The three of us argue about it – his father and I both know he could’ve been spending that money on getting back to school. But it leads to nothing! He goes back to work, and this mess repeats itself.”  
  
He took a bite. “He’s an adult now, isn’t he?”  
  
“Oh, he’s been one for  _three_  years.  _Three_.” Hannah opened her mouth, as if she had more to say – but the words escaped her. She clenched a fist, and sighed. It wasn’t worth it. Not at this point.  
  
Lucian pursed his lips, and nodded.  
  
“I know that this isn’t what he wants. And that’s a good thing – I guess? But he doesn’t care enough about himself enough to do anything about it,” Hannah said, visibly exasperated. “That Chimchar. It’s got potential. All of them do. I gave it to him as a gift for his eighteenth birthday. I hoped he’d have it live up to that potential,” she continued, catching her breath midway through. “But instead, he made it his second pair of arms in the garage. If he can’t reach a tool or a bolt, that’s where it comes in. That’s all he does with it.”  
  
It was easy to pick up on the fact that she had been holding all this in for far too long “Go on.” Lucian decided to let her air it all out. He wouldn’t be able to communicate with her properly if she didn’t. Hannah was always this way, from their days in Veilstone High, till she took Eterna’s gym leader post, even as a retired ace.  
  
“I’m giving him this chance to start over,” she added. “He just needs a push in the right direction. If he won’t pick himself up, I will.”  
  
Lucian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “So it's decided, then. When do you want me to pick him up?”   
  
“I’ll give him a week to let it sink in and prepare,” she decided, her shoulders finally sagging. “But I want you to meet him today. Just so you two won’t need to break the ice next week.”   
  
“That’s fine with me.” Lucian nonchalantly finished his muffin. “Wouldn’t want any surprises.”  
  
“You know, these days I  _wish_  he’d surprise Grant and I.” Hannah rose up off the couch, leaving several crumbs on her armrest. She knocked on the garage’s door. “Leroy, we’ve got a visitor. Come here. Now.”  
  
Her son dropped his spanner, and removed his earphones. “Fuckin’ hell.” He scowled, collecting a few bolts in his gloves. He rolled his creeper out from underneath the truck – his Chimchar then pushed a small cardboard box his way. Leroy stored the bolts in the box, then stood up.  
  
“Yeah, Mom. I’m coming,” he assured his mother, then turned to his pet. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Lia,” he told the Chimchar, wiping sweat off his forehead.   
  
For a moment, she eyed him curiously. Where could he have been headed off to? But it was short-lived, for she then looked back into the box of bolts with a blank expression on its greasy mug.  
  
“Now don’t you go playin’ with that box.” Leroy took a mirror from one of the desks around the garage, taking his hairband off. He looked into it – what a mane he had grown. He elected not to maintain his hair’s length after his eighteenth birthday. Three years later, his hair had turned into a massive, greasy, shoulder-length tar-smoothie.  
  
_Not bad._  He complimented himself. Of course, he needed to look… barely presentable for the visitor, at least. He wiped some grease off his clothes and arms, and then he walked back into the house.  
  
Hannah walked over to him as soon as he entered the house. She held him by his forearm. “Lucian, this is my son. Leroy. And Leroy, this is an old friend of mine, Lucian Wingates.”   
  
His eyes fixated to the young man in the oil-stained jumpsuit leaning against the wall. Already he could tell he was dedicated to his craft – his gloves were worn in various places, and his face was a mess of dry sweat mixed in with grease. Not to mention; the hair.  
  
“Hello, Leroy. Your mother has told me much about you,” he remarked, straightening his back.  
  
Leroy cast a sidelong look at their visitor. Somehow, he wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, I’d bet my ass on it,” he barked.  
  
“Leroy.” Hannah’s eyes flashed, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Language.”  
  
“Mom.” He shook his head. “What the hell is this for, anyway?”  
  
“You’ll find out.” Hannah sighed. She then walked back to the couch. “Come here.”  
  
Her son lethargically seated himself on a stool near the sofa set. Though he was somewhat shameless, he wouldn’t have dirtied the set with his jumpsuit. Not that Hannah gave him any time or option to take a shower or get a change of clothes. So there he sat.  
  
“Good. Now, let’s talk,” Hannah started, as soon as she had sat back down on the couch. She looked straight into her son’s eyes. She winded this one up.   
  
“I’ve signing you up for the League Initiative Program. You’ll represent Twinleaf.”  
  
\-----  
  
A week passed. It took two days for his mother’s announcement to sink in. Once it did, his new obligation forced his old habits into the proverbial toilet; it cut short, his cycle of stagnation. Given his situation, he should’ve been grateful for these turn of events.  
  
Instead, he found himself in a box of discomfort. Or, as he would later put it, ‘Like an empty fridge box on top of a skateboard rolling down Mt. Coronet.’ The sensation had him feeling like tipping over at any moment. It was  _scary_. And it wasn’t the fun type of scary, either.  
  
He stuffed his clothes into his blue duffel bag the night before. He didn’t bother to fold or iron them. It was a process best described as ‘making his closet take a shit on the bag’ as he explained to his father. The toiletries were, more or less, standard fare; they were first packed into a plastic bag, and then that same plastic bag got dumped on the clothes.   
  
It wasn’t neat, but he at least wasn’t doomed to wearing the same clothes 24/7.  
  
“Leroy,” his mother began, “Have you found Lia’s Pokeball?”  
  
Grant cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, Hannah, he has. It was wedged between his bed and the wall.” He hunched over and reached for the bottle of syrup.  
  
He kept his mouth shut, slicing a D-shaped piece away from his pancake. Which was going to be, he figured, the only ‘sweet’ part of his day.  
  
Grant slathered a cup syrup on his own pancake. No wonder he ended up with the biggest beer belly in Twinleaf. “Did Lucian say when he was coming?”  
  
Hannah checked her phone. “Hm… he’s actually running late,” she said, re-adjusting her glasses. He should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.”  
  
“Huh,” her husband mumbled, mouth half-full.  
  
She turned her head to her son. “You should be using this time to get prepared, Leroy.”  
  
Leroy sighed, finishing up his meal. “I think I’ve got everything I need.” The apathy on his face was evident.  
  
“Are you sure? Where’s Lia?” Grant moved his head forward, looking for a sign of her Pokeball on his person.   
  
“Over here,” Leroy grabbed something from the strap of his backpack. He hurled it into the air, and there the Chimchar materialized in a flash of white-hot light. She rubbed her eyes, apparently having been sleeping within the capsule. She then climbed up her chair – it was once Leroy’s, twenty years ago – then eyed the food with an unwavering gaze.   
  
“Wanna eat?” her ‘trainer’ offered, having just a bit of his pancake unfinished. His parents eyed her closely, as she nodded. He placed his plate on her mini-table.  
  
“Dig in. You’ll need it.” Hannah smiled. In the back of her mind, she knew her son was still on the fence about all this, but that at least was better than being totally opposed to the idea. All she had to do, she figured, was to keep smiling for Leroy. Nothing makes someone want to make people proud like an encouraging smile does, even if, in the end, it was to make him proud of himself.  
  
The Chimchar grabbed the syrup-soaked pancake – what was left of it, anyway– and began chowing down on the leftovers. She never complained, but she never expressed joy or gratitude, either. As far as Chimchar went, Lia was a stoic specimen. Though the fire on her back shined vibrantly, she might have been cold as a dead man’s chest.  
  
“Did you feed her yesterday?” Grant asked his son, bemused. Usually, she wasn’t the type to devour her meal, unlike Grant’s Houndour.  
  
“Lunch and dinner.” Leroy grabbed his tablecloth and wiped his mouth. He then stood up, brushing his clothes with his quivering hands. “I’m heading out, maybe I’ll meet Mr. Mercedes on the way to Sandgem.”  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
He looked back to his parents. “You want me to get that?”  
  
Hannah shrugged, smiling dolefully, as if Leroy should’ve already known. He turned back to the door, and for a second he swore he could feel the other end of the doorknob buzzing along with his hand.   
  
“Good morning,” The man greeted.   
  
At the sight of the man in the violet tweed suit, the quivering reached Leroy’s stomach. “Uh… hey. You coming in?”  
  
“No need.” Wingates re-adjusted his glasses.  
  
At this moment, the twenty-one year-old felt two hands resting on his shoulders. He looked to his left, and to his right – it was Grant and Hannah, and they were delicately brushing his shoulders, for this would be the last time they were going to see their son for a long time. They’d embrace him, if they could – but Leroy always hated that, Leroy always hated the sensation of strong affection. So there they settled.  
  
“Hey, Lucian. Take care of my boy, will you?” Grant heartily smiled, tapping his hands on Leroy’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this, but he didn’t stop them. If this could take the trembling sensation away, he wasn’t going to go against it.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
“Of course, Grant. That’s my specialty,” said Lucian, nodding, while eyeing Leroy.  
  
“You’ll have to take care of yourself too, Leroy. Don’t make yourself look stupid out there,” Hannah jokingly said, pressing her cheek against her son’s.  
  
“Mom – Mom, cut it out!” Leroy smiled, trying to keep the fear at bay – from his face.   
  
The visitor watched the family’s farewell to their son. He didn’t stop himself from grinning even though this was only the beginning of the proverbial coming-of-age party. This should be fun.  _I hope he isn’t as much of a handful as his mother was._  
  
“So, Leroy. Shall we?” He broke his silence.  
  
His eyes shift to the road in front of the house. The Mercedes was nowhere to be seen. It shouldn’t have been hard to miss, in the morning sun. “Where’s your ride?” he asked, baffled.  
  
Lucian pointed at the house’s garage. “You have your own, don’t you?   
  
Leroy’s pupils dilated. “What, I’m driving?”  
  
“Why not? I’d like to see just how much your father’s rubbed off on you.” Wingates glanced at Grant, who nodded vigorously.  
  
“Well, Mister, I don’t have my keys with me,” Leroy replied, deadpan in tone and expression.  
  
“Are you sure?” Hannah asked. “Check your back pocket.”   
  
Lia had plodded out of her chair and now stoodbetween Grant and Hannah. Upon hearing Hannah’s instructions, she leaped over to Leroy, and reached into his pocket with her long arms. And there were the Bronco’s keys, dangling off of the Chimchar’s fingers.  
  
“Would’ve been a waste if I didn’t let you take your pet along.” His mother winked slyly.  
  
The dull trembling stopped.  
  
“Mom…” The beam on his face was as bright as the sheen of morning dew. Lia tugged at his hand, keychain in hand. “T-thanks,” He stammered, taking the keys from the Chimchar, grasping it tightly in his palms. Maybe this was still going to be a shitty experience, but the presence of the truck in the equation was enough to release the tension throughout his body. At least his mother gave him leeway on this one, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to go about this on foot.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Hannah said. She and Grant then walked over to the garage’s up-and-over door. They unlatched the locks, and lifted the wooden slab. The morning light flowed into the shed, reflecting off of the Ford and into Leroy’s eyes. He hesitated from between the front door and the ramp, humming exuberantly.  
  
“Mom, s-seriously, I-“  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
His eyes widened as he looked for words to cobble together a response.   
  
He meekly gives off a “Y-yeah,”  
  
“Then… go for it!” Hannah said slowly and bluntly, biting her lip. Though she acted tough, and though she was the one who wore the pants in their marriage, there was something about being separated from a loved one for an extended period of time that tugged at her heartstrings. She and her husband fought back tears as they watched their only child and his lone Pokemon making their way up into the shed.  
  
Hannah managed to hold it in, of course. She hadn’t earned the moniker of Twinleaf’s Iron Maiden back in the day for nothing. Her husband, however? Not so much. A single tear is still a tear, and that was enough of a sign to Leroy that despite his uselessness in their household, he was still valued; he was still cherished. It stirred something up in him – it wasn’t the same pain of separation Hannah and Grant felt, but it was something strong enough to make him hesitate turn the key.  
  
But he gulped down the lump in his throat. He climbed into the truck’s cabin, hoisting Lia in one arm, and placing her in the back seat.   
  
_What the hell am I gonna do now...._  He asked himself, grinning. He started the Bronco up. It came alive with a smooth, low growl, the tachometer needle shooting from zero to one.   
  
He wiped a bead of sweat off his shoulder, and he took a cassette tape from his backpack. Labelled ‘The Best of Spandau Ballet’, he inserted it into the onboard player.  
  
**[ONLY WHEN YOU LEAVE – SPANDAU BALLET]**  
  
“You’ll like this one.” He turned around in his seat, to face the Chimchar. The drum intro burst through the SUV’s speakers, but she only shrugged, slouching – back. She sat on the Bronco’s second rear bench – Lia, when she was younger and had no control over the flame on her back, almost turned the truck into a write-off after the first bench seat was set ablaze on the way home from Oreburgh.  
  
The truck rolled forward, onto the ramp. Lucian waited there, arms crossed. Leroy opened up the passenger’s window. “Hop in, Mercedes-Man,” he said, throwing his duffel bag and backpack on the rear bench seat.  
  
Lucian smirked, opening up the door. The body was higher off the ground, as high as, as Leroy would say, ‘that ancient Kalosian king’s ass.’ Lucian had to stretch his slacks up more than he was used to. But they didn’t rip, and he eventually made his way into the seat without much of a fuss.  
  
“This ain’t exactly a Benz ‘Sonderklasse’,” Leroy said, purposely mispronouncing the last word, “so brace your back.”  
  
Lucian strapped himself in. “I’ve ridden in harsher cars, believe me.”   
  
“Okay then, I’m just warning you.” Leroy adjusted his rearview mirror, until both his parents were in sight. He then rolled his window down, and stretched his arms out. “See ya!” he waved, lightly pressing on the horn.  
  
“Take care! We love you!” was the collective reply, the couple waving the Bronco off, as it pulled out of the ramp.  
  
He drove farther and farther away; eventually the gap between him and his family grew uncloseable.


	4. Tour

“So, where to, Merc-Man?” Leroy asked, re-adjusting his rearview mirror whilst maneuvering the truck away from bumps on the road. Sure, while the Bronco – as of now, at least – only had a body lift kit, it still didn’t put it in a favourable position against Lucian’s Mercedes once comfort came into play.  
  
“Sandgem Town. There’s someone who wants to meet you over there.” Lucian noticed the truck swerving within its lane, staying away from even the slightest depressions on the path. “This isn’t how you usually drive, is it?”  
  
Leroy pressed lightly on the brakes, and steered right. “Does it matter?”  
  
“I’m just bemused as to why a truck like this would be reined back on an unpaved surface.”  
  
“Heh.” He steered back left, the faintest of smirks pulling his cheeks back. “Well,” he starts, “you asked for it. I ain’t responsible for what happens to your back.” The crinkles on his face disappeared, and his arms loosened up. The truck was now following a straight path; it was like travelling through the sea – waves pushing up, and pulling back down.  
  
Which was pleasantly comforting once a rhythm was formed.  
  
“I’m not the biggest fan of travelling around,” Leroy said, stopping the Bronco at the intersection connecting Verity Lakefront, Twinleaf, and Route 201. “I don’t know about Lia, though.” He threw a glance the rear seat’s way - the Chimchar was scratching her belly, slouched on the backrest.  
  
It was, by far, the most noise she made on the trip.  
  
“Oh, I can tell. Though ” Lucian looked around. Trees, trees, and more trees. It was lonely out here, save for the wind blowing into the cabin, the lush smell of morning air flowing downward from Mt. Coronet, and the voice of Tony Hadley. “You could’ve refused, you know.”  
  
His eyes rolled skyward. “Oh yeah, and shitting in my mom’s vase sounds like a good way to pass time.”  
  
Lucian smirked. “Well, you could’ve decided to run off, or feigned sickness,” he started. “There’s always a way out.”  
  
“I’m not ambitious, and I ain’t that desperate either.” The moment Leroy decided there weren’t any other cars on the road, he turned right, and got the truck going once more. “Besides…” he trailed off.  
  
“Besides?”  
  
It took him a few moments to stir, and when he did, he said, “Mom and Dad were right.” He didn’t hate admitting this as much as he thought he would, surprisingly.  
  
“What makes you say that?” Lucian asked in a diplomatic tone, leaning on the Bronco’s armrest.  
  
“I mean, I actually get to do shit, right?” Leroy wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. His sweatband, apparently, wasn’t cooperating with him that day. “I’m getting away from my bullshit, but at the same time I get to fall back on said bullshit.”  
  
Wingates chortled. “And how would you define that, exactly?” The job of a coach, as he’d learned from his father, consisted of three basic deeds. First, ask open-ended questions, listen, and then give some suggestions based on what the client answers with using their own words. As much as possible, however, he was going to avoid swearing along with Hannah’s son.  
  
Leroy glanced at the Chimchar. She was as blank as ever, but at least her head wasn’t facing the same way her body was – she may or may not have been curious as to what it was like outside the truck. “Look at me. No real goals or direction in life at age 21,” he started. “That’s the part of me I’m leaving behind. Then there’s this baby.” He pointed at the Ford logo, etched on the steering wheel.  
  
“So this entire thing,” Lucian looked around the Bronco’s cabin, “This is what you get to fall back on?”  
  
“Yeah.” Leroy smiled.  
  
“Not bad,” Wingates conceded. “By the way, we don’t need to stop over at the offramp over here. I have it covered.”  
  
He grabbed his handkerchief from the center console. He wasn’t that uncomfortable – but why was he still sweating? “You have what covered?” he asked, wiping another drop off his face.  
  
Lucian grabbed a Pokeball from his belt, then dropped it on the cupholder. “That’s a female Bidoof. I’ll leave her name up to you.”  
  
The driver swerved left, passing a farm truck on the slow lane. “Isn’t that the job of that old man in Eterna?” He smirked.  
  
“And now you get to do it yourself. Isn’t that great?”  
  
“It would be if my damn license wasn’t already two years past expiration. I don’t even remember how those work anymore.”  
  
“Who says you can’t get a new one? There’s a Center where we’re going.” Lucian shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, whatever, man,” Leroy said, shaking his head. Renewal wasn’t an option, not at this point – his initial Trainer’s License was created before the PC system was phased out and replaced with the Poke Terminal. And that system required an entirely new card structure.  
  
That means… a photoshoot. Fuck me, I should’ve washed my hair this morning.  
  
  
Sandgem Town.  
  
Not so much of a town anymore.  
  
For one; the presence of several 30-storey condominium complexes gave all the cheap yuppies from the big cities low-cost options for a life by the beach. And where the city folk go, the downtown minimalls follow. ‘Because Sunyshore was just a little too played out for those snobs,’ Leroy would always say with a scowl. Several beachside villas were under construction, exotic materials brought in by the truckload from all over Sinnoh. Newly-paved roads and curbs lined the spaces in between every block – it may as well have been Jubilife’s suburban southside. And yet, even after all that, nothing felt particularly alien to the town’s original character. Already there was sand scattering onto the newly-paved streets, and the scent of the air all over town was still reminiscent of Sinnoh’s southern seas.  
  
Salty.  
  
The Bronco entered the town through the undivided Route 201 highway from the west.  
  
‘Welcome to Sandgem Town!’ the sign greeted, on a sand-coloured background, written in cursive.  
  
“So… where’s the Center here again?” Leroy asked. He stopped the truck after being met with a red light.  
  
Lucian glanced at him. “Don’t you pass Sandgem on your way to work?”  
  
“Dude, I forget things.” He shrugged. With the way the highway was laid out, if one chose to go straight for the path to Jubilife after entering Sandgem, the Center was far, far too easy to miss.  
  
“That’s unfortunate.” Lucian smirked, almost mockingly.  
  
Leroy was ready to blurt out a ‘Yeah, fuck you too.’ But he restrained himself. It was probably best that he didn’t cuss the coach out an hour into the trip. “Besides, a lot’s changed about Sandgem since I last visited their Center.” He ejected the cassette tape. “It’s been years since I last poked around that part of town.”  
  
“Right,” Lucian blurted.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Turn right, Leroy.” The traffic light turned green.  
  
The driver put the truck back into gear, turning onto Baliset Road. At that moment it became clear that Sandgem had slowly begun to inherit Jubilife’s notorious traffic congestion – there was at least one car passing by on the oncoming lane every six, seven seconds. Back in Twinleaf, he may as well have been the lonely king of the unpaved path.  
  
_Don’t these assholes have anywhere else to park?_  Leroy glared at a stationary Prius taking up half of the outer lane, shaking his head. And because he adhered to a life of high-displacement Kabu-juice guzzling, there was that ever-so-slight temptation to turn that ‘zero-emission’ appliance on wheels into a piece of metal origami.  
  
Of course, he didn’t.  
  
“Do any of you Elites own one of those things?”  
  
“What, that Toyota?”  
  
“Yeah. That piece of crap.”  
  
Lucian peered into his rearview mirror. “Unfortunately not. Why do you ask?” he said, baffled. Anyone who had a job at the League’s main office rolled in a Mercedes, after all.  
  
“Nothin’,” Leroy said, leaving the Prius in the dust. “Just breaking the ice, s’all.” He threw a few glances away from the road ahead of him – unlit streetlamps, coffee shops, and convenience stores lined the curb in both directions. He shrunk into his seat.  
  
_This was supposed to be a town, not a bloated-ass beach resort._  
  
They reached another intersection not too long after that. This one wasn’t quite as broad or deserted as the last one; for instance, along with the cars passing by on the adjacent road, there was a well-worn green VW Bus to the Bronco’s right. Not to mention, four food chains along the corners.  
  
“Left,” Lucian said, eyeing the cars passing by. “Come up with a name yet?” he then asked.  
  
Leroy briefly looked at the Pokeball on the cupholder. “This thing? I don’t know... Lima?”  
  
“Don’t you think we’ve got enough Ls in one truck?” He pointed at the Chimchar scratching its leg.  
  
“Well, you can call me Eddie if it bothers you that much.” He shrugged, rubbing his nose. Not that anyone ever did after third grade.  
  
Lucian chuckled, gulping down a bit of water. “No pressure, Leroy.”  
  
Amidst its evolving surroundings, Sandgem’s Pokemon Center made the small block it was sitting on its own – both figuratively and literally. The rest of the space the building itself didn’t take, was allotted for parking space. Though modernized to adapt to the times, it didn’t try to stand out as much as all the other new buildings in town did. It didn’t have any exotic overhangs, and it didn’t try flaunting an exercise in trapezoidal windows. The big Pokeball sign atop the wide main door was enough; it never failed to draw rookies and seasoned pros alike towards the Center.  
  
Leroy elected to keep Lia out of her Pokeball, so she could explore the world outside their front yard. In a way, that whole bit about ‘going on a journey of reinvention’ didn’t just apply to Leroy.  
  
Maybe Lia needed this, too.  
  
“At this rate, I thought the Center here would’ve been turned into a minimall by now.” He combed his hair with his fingers, the Chimchar ambling along, following their every move.  
  
“In a way, all Centers are minimalls. Think about it,” Lucian replied, leading the way to the front door.  
  
“Fair point,” Leroy said, removing his sweatband. “If you’re an Elite, why aren’t the ‘razzi on our asses yet?” he then curiously asked. He didn’t wish for any fanfare, but it was a point he felt was interesting enough to bring up with Lucian.  
  
“We don’t make public appearances nearly as much as the Champion does. Plus; we’re still in a remote part of Sinnoh, as nice as all this looks.”  
  
It ain’t what I’d call nice. He was, after all, someone who preferred to keep to himself in a small garage in the middle of nowhere. Leroy then glanced back at the Chimchar.  
  
What does she think of this? He stared up at all the changes the Center got since he last dropped by. The paint was freshened up, the windows were much clearer. All the rooms, as far as he could see, were now air-conditioned. That new third floor – to him, at least – made the whole place feel so much taller from where he was standing.  
  
Lucian walked up the stairs leading up to the Center’s main entrance. He turned around, expecting Leroy and Lia on his tail – and caught him spacing out.  
  
“If that’s how you want to look on your license, that’s fine, too.” He curtly shrugged, eyeing Leroy’s glossy black hair.  
  
Leroy snapped his head back. “Shit,” he said, almost slack-jawed. He took Lia up and placed her on his shoulder, briskly walking up the stairs behind Lucian.  
  
He took a moment to briefly eye the Chimchar up on her (unofficially, at that moment) trainer’s shoulder. Her eyes were still as widely open as they always were, but this time, they were shifting left and right, her head slightly bobbing whenever she did.  
  
As far as Lucian could tell, it was all new to her, and she wasn’t sure what to think of it all.  
  
He then promptly faced the door once more. “Well then, let’s get started.”  
  
“Wait!”  
  
“What?”  
  
Leroy took the Bidoof’s Pokeball out of his backpack. “I think I’ll call her Jill.”


	5. Entry

_Oh, fuck no-_  
  
A flash of white light shot straight into my eyes when I least expected it. The instant soreness set in without any warning – just like that flash. No countdown, no ‘say cheese!’ – nothing.  
  
That’s what I remember happening that day, at least.  
  
The nurse lowered the camera. I was still reeling from the sudden flash. “Okay, that should be it!” She smiled, either missing just how  _well_  my eyes took it, or just being an asshole. Not that it mattered, but I hoped that it wasn’t the latter.  
  
I was rubbing the ever living shit out of my peepholes by that point. “Ergh, it better be,” I muttered, hoping that the picture wouldn’t come out as bad as I thought it would. I stepped out of the studio – but not without nearly tripping myself over a reflector stand.  
  
_Real fucking smooth._ `  
  
The next thing I remember doing was walking over to one of the counters to collect my brand new license card. I wasn’t exactly known for my abundance in mental stamina back then. And after just a blink of sleep--not only did I look like one of Romero’s brainchildren, I also walked and felt like one. My understanding of whatever the fuck those other trainers were talking about on the other side of the Center was  _nil_. All I (vaguely) remember is stuff like why their Magikarp started turning blue while also growing longer, that kind of shit. Lia was still pulling off Sinnoh’s best Mareep impression, following me almost everywhere I went without making any effort to ‘speak’... or whatever it is non-telepathic Pokemon do. So I left her on the chair closest to the desk before claiming the card.  
  
It didn’t take too long for them to process my info – maybe five, maybe six minutes tops. The receptionist then reached for the counter’s card dispenser. “Okay, sir, here you go!” In her hand was, well, what I came here for in the first place.  
  
“Huh,” I mumbled like a dumbass – already I forgot what the fuck I was doing there. I  _probably_ (Look, I’m being nice to myself here.) did  _not_  get enough sleep the night before. “Oh. Thanks.” I reached for the card, immediately inspecting it.  
  
I’ll just say this now, bed hair ruins everything. This wasn’t an exception. That was probably the best smile I’d cracked for  _years_  up to that point, but it was never going to be easy to cover up a beat-up paintbrush’s tangled bristles. Especially since I only had three hours of sleep up to that point--I didn’t finish college, but I sure as hell looked like it.  
  
Anyways, the rest of it was pretty much standard fare for an ID Card. Y’know – white background, letters in all-caps. In other words… it was bland as fuck. Something like:

> SINNOH DEPARTMENT OF TRAINER AFFAIRS
> 
> NAME (LAST NAME, FIRST NAME, MIDDLE NAME): WASHINGTON, LEROY EDWARD K.
> 
> SEX: M
> 
> HT (CM): 182
> 
> DOB (DD-MM-YYYY): 09-11-1997
> 
> ADDRESS (NO, STREET, CITY): #6 AVANTE WAY, TWINLEAF TOWN
> 
> EXPIRES (DD-MM-YYYY): 06-09-2020

  
  
The receptionist explained to me that the new card system was a ‘one size fits all’ type of thing. A credit card mixed with a Pokemon storage system, basically. Even I don’t get it myself, but apparently the people at Silph and Devon collaborated to unify all transactions--be it over the counter or the boxes--into one data card for all trainers. Digital money and spare Pokemon all in one. It could do everything, provided that you had a Poke Terminal – their then-recent replacement for the PC system – to use.  
  
Or, so they say. At least I wasn’t as isolated from the rest of Sinnoh as I was just an hour before that. I mean – I hoped that I wasn’t, now that I was a trainer again. Just like everyone else.  
  
“Hey,” I said, suddenly remembering that nothing was free of charge these days. “How much does this cost?”  
  
The receptionist furrowed her brow, taking a piece of paper from her desk. She inspected it briefly. “Someone covered the expenses. It’s pretty much free, sir.” She smiled. The rest of her face looked about as confused as I was.  
  
“Oh. That’s convenient.” I snickered. Of course he did; that rich-ass psychic. It’s not that I wasn’t relieved, not at all, no. It’s that this was probably just a one-time perk for a half-drunk greenhorn – like myself, back then. Even now, I wouldn’t be able to tell any of the crew why I found it funny. It just was.  
  
I turned around, facing Lia. “Well, it’s official,” I whispered. “Go take a look.”  
  
She tilted her head to the left, eyeing the card intently. I mean – she couldn’t understand a lick of what was printed on it. It was nice to share that little achievement with her despite that fact.  
  
Lia then turned her head back to me. She pointed at the underachiever on the card – and this may have been the first time I’d seen the gears turn in her head since I taught her how to handle a wrench – then moved her finger to the right, stopping right in front of my nose.  
  
I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. That’s me.”  
  
_Two achievements in one go. How productive of you, Leroy!_  
  
\--  
  
I expected that Das Psychisch Daimler Man wouldn’t have had anywhere else to go but the coffee shop up on the second floor. So I hauled my hairy ass up there, also expecting some form of moral support on the picture from Lucian if he did happen to be sipping crushed beans. I got one of two correctly.   
  
Guess which one it was.  
  
“If it makes you feel any better, you can get a new picture taken in two years.”  
  
I tried not to gasp. “ _Two_  years?!”  
  
Mr. Merc slouched back on his seat, sipping on a cup of coffee. “Renewal, Leroy.”  
  
“… I knew that.” And I did! It’s just that, y’know – two years. Two. Years! Everything I’m recalling now – it all happened two years ago. I renewed my license just last Wednesday, and after all the time I spent lugging that bushy-ass mug around all over Sinnoh, the shoot I had for my new ID picture was a ca-fucking-thartic experience.  
  
Anyways.  
  
He shrugged. He shifted his gaze around the café, left to right, and back again. Then he raised a hand, as a waiter walked past our table. “Ah, over here.”  
  
The waiter approached. “Yes, sir?”  
  
“I’ll have another cup of espresso, and a plate of French toast,” he said, re-adjusting his glasses.  
  
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”  
  
“That’ll be all.” Elite-Man smiled. The waiter walked towards the counter.  
  
“You feelin’ hungry?” I then asked. To put it nicely? He didn’t have anything close to Dad’s belly. So I was surprised when he asked for seconds.  
  
But then, turns out, he didn’t. “No, not exactly.”  
  
“Well, you could order some stuff for my buddies in these things,” I said, unlatching both Lia’s and Jill’s Pokeballs from my belt. “Y’know, like, give ‘em a celebratory meal or something.”  
  
Lucian smirked. “I’m not a blank check. That’s your call.”  
  
“I’m broke.”  
  
“Too bad.”  
  
“Who’d you order all that food for, then?”  
  
“It’s for the person we’re meeting.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mentioned that earlier. Don’t you remember?”  
  
“No…” See, the funny thing is that I remember it now, but back then, right when it was supposed to be as fresh as a baby’s ass – well, I didn’t.  
  
This sort of thing’s going to keep coming up for a while. My attention span gets longer, I promise.  
  
“So, who is it, then?”  
  
Lucian’s lips creased. “You might know each other.” Vague. As he always was.  
  
“And?”  
  
If there’s anything he was always good at, it was delayed gratification. “I’ll leave it at that,” He said, almost wryly. He then crossed his legs, wiping coffee off his lips.  
  
“Fine.”  _Whatever._  
  
A few minutes passed. Both of us stayed quiet in that time – spending some time taking in the atmosphere… shit like that. It’s what I did, at least.  
  
This café – we were still in the Center at this point. The second floor, at least. This is where the whole place resembled a shopping center more than a Pokemon Center – a few stalls here, some small clothing shops and eateries there. One could easily forget that this space was sandwiched between two hospital-styled floors. That is, if they stayed for a bit longer than it takes for the Pope to take a shit in the woods.  
  
After a while, I placed my hand on the Bidoof’s capsule again – what a shiny sphere it was! “So how’d you catch her?” I asked, placing the ball on the coaster.  
  
“Honestly, I just bonked it on the head with one throw.”  
  
“What, you mean you KO’ed it?”  
  
“Ideally you’d want to do that  _before_  throwing it,” He replied, in a matter-of-fact manner.  
  
“Okay, but…” I pressed on the release button. Never has a flash of red light turned into something as underwhelming as  _this_. The rodent landed on the table and landed onto my fucking toast. “Ugh… Did you knock her out?” I asked again, just a  _little_  exasperated.  
  
“Not exactly,” Lucian commented, on Jill’s somewhat lively stance. Livelier than Lia was in her Pokeball, I’d bet. “You might want to keep her from stomping all over your food, though.”  
  
“Dammit,” I muttered, lifting the bucky beaver motherfucker off my plate. “This ain’t for you!” I set her down on the chair next to me. Jill was pretty damn hungry, as it turned out. She tilted her head up and stood on her hind legs, trying to reach for the food on the table. Which was a pain in my not-very-fresh big baby ass.  
  
So naturally, I did what any responsible trainer would do – take her by one of her arms and set her back down on the chair. “Oh, alright….” I relented, slicing the crust off my leftovers. Then I fed those to her. That seemed to satisfy Jill. She didn’t try to spring up onto the table again; the Bidoof was way too busy gnawing on her chow. Sloppily.  
  
“Right.” He said, obviously amused at my Bidoof’s lack of table manners and my weak-ass attempt to cover for it. “I almost forgot - How does it feel to be a trainer once again, Leroy?” he then asked, having finished his cup, leaning forward.  
  
“Like signing up for judo class,” I blurted.  
  
That turned out to be accurate as fuck.  
  
He looked bemused. I guess he tried to hide it, though – because the next thing he said was, “I wouldn’t know myself, but that sounds like fun.”  
  
“Me neither. I know a guy who did, though. He regretted it.” I laughed, scratching my shoulders. I’m just going to warn all the freshmen now – if you’re looking for a P.E. track to take up,  _do not_  take up martial arts. Don’t be like him.  
  
And then suddenly, he then waved at someone behind me – probably a waiter, I thought.  _Maybe now he’s actually going for seconds?_  So I turned a 180.  
  
Which was perfectly good, and perfectly terrible timing at the same time. Mostly the latter, because that’s when  _ **he**_  arrived, hands in his pocket, baggy jeans and unkempt blonde hair looking about as neat as bird-shit on my truck’s windshield.  
  
He eyed me wryly, smirking. “Care to spill, L?”  
  
\---  
  
There’s nothing like having your best friend crash your second breakfast with an Elite Four member – and have said friend turn out to be your… I don’t know, match? Counterpart? Yeah, that’s the word I was looking for. Basically, this bombastic fuck turned out to be the second man from Twinleaf. Which meant that I had competition – a rival… or something. Like BMW and Mercedes; the Celtics and the Lakers.  
  
  
“Don’t be a stranger, L,” he said, munching on his French toast. I gazed at him, then Lucian – both in utter disbelief. Wasn’t he taught to at least push his food to the side before speaking in stuffmouth?  
  
He took a card out of his pocket. “Leroy, this is Al-“  
  
“Alex,” I hissed.  
  
“-right. Well, everyone knows everyone in Twinleaf, it seems,” Lucian commented. Not that he was surprised – that honor went to me. For this table, at least.  
  
Alex raised a finger, taking a sip from his cup. “Yes, Mr. Wingates, I can confirm. Population: a thousand, and two hundred and twenty,” he said, side-eyeing me with a smirk.  
  
That smartass.  
  
“Dude, don’t you mean a thousand and two hundred eighteen?” I pointed out to him – both he and I were going to be away from home for a long stretch of that funny thing called time.  
  
“That’s still an estimated thousand and two hundred twenty, man.” He shrugged. Weirdo.  
  
“I….” It probably was best that I didn’t try to out-ass his smart… uh… out-smart his smart ass.   
  
That fell apart quick. I’m sorry.  
  
“Anyways,” Lucian began. “Now that you’re both here, and registered as trainers – I’ll leave you two to it.” He smiled, rising up from his chair.  
  
“Huh? Where are you going?” Alex asked, bread still stuffed in his mouth.  
  
“Attending to you two doesn’t stop me from being Jubilife U’s Dean. You should know that, Mr. Schreiber.” He started walking back to the elevator. “See you there.” He boarded the elevator, and disappeared.  
  
Which left me with this dick.  
  
“Were you around for when he became the Dean?” he asked, finishing up his food. Evidently he was just that teeny bit intimidated – even if he was a graduate.  
  
“Nah,” I started, “Didn’t even know you guys had a new Dean after I left.” And I guess I knew why he didn’t tell me--I still held some resentment towards Jubilife U at that point, so it would’ve been touchy.  
  
“I thought you’d already heard. Anyways, man… he scares the shit out of me.” Which was a pretty rare admittance of fear from Alex, from all the years that he and I’ve known each other.  
  
I raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, is he the type to hand tests out without any lectures?”  
  
“Pfft--no. You think that shit rattles me?” He smirked.  
  
I shrugged. “Yeah, I think it does.” I cheekily smiled, because it was true.  
  
“Fuck you too, L.” He wiped the crumbs off his mouth. “I mean, I don’t know, he’s just… like, damn, an Elite’s in charge of the school. He’s just got that, I don’t know, that fuckin’ vibe.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be looking up to him, then?”  
  
“You ever seen a guy talking to an Alakazam without blowing his brains out?” He asked me, holding a pair of spoons. “Fuckin’, like this, or something.”  
  
“What the hell? Really?” Look, I wouldn’t shit the bed at the sight of all Psychic-types I see--Slowbro exists. But if I found myself face-to-face with a sentient, frowning, telepathic supercomputer… that’s a whole different story.  
  
“Dude, don’t even get me started on that time I saw him at the library, or that time he had that Gallade mow the whole football field in one cut. Freaky shit, man, freaky shit.”  
  
I grabbed his spoons and placed them back on the table. “That actually seems kinda cool, brother. Cooler than the last Dean, at least.” The last dean used to lead the law arm of Sunyshore U, but then there was a hazing incident under his watch. He was incompetence, nepotism, and subjective grading on a pair of scrawny-ass legs, basically.  
  
“Yeah, but… you know… Psychics, Elites, aces and all… What if he reads our minds and shit?”  
  
“Chill, fuckstick. You’ve already graduated, right?” I laughed, patting him on the back. “Besides, I don’t think he’d want to read our minds anyway.”  
  
“What are you implying, L?” I mean, hey, I didn’t say anything.  
  
“Nothing,” I shrugged. He shook his head, finishing up his coffee. “Anyways, we’re both done here, let’s bolt already.” I grabbed my backpack and stood up.  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Right behind you, brother.”  
  
\--  
  
Have you ever overestimated your car’s gas mileage? I have. It’s… not fun, to say the least. Pretty frustrating, really. You come back, the key turns, and the engine budges… and nothing. You turn it again – same shit.  
  
_Fucking 302s._  
  
“That’ll be a million dollars for stalling out on me like this,” Alex said. Fucker was already strapped in before I even tried. At least he wasn’t, and I quote, ‘scared shitless’ by Mr. Merc Man – for whatever weird-ass reason he had.  
  
“Come  _on_!” I turned the key again – budge, budge, budge, sign of ignition, aaaaand – cut-off.  
  
“Dude, when was the last time you refilled?” Alex pointed at the gauge – E, along with a glowing gas pump next to it.  
  
“Fuck’s sake…” I should’ve known. “Sunday,” I then said, shaking my head.  
  
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He wagged his finger. Not that he had to be a prick about it, but hey.  
  
“You can take your seatbelt off now, pussy.” Not that I had to be a prick about it, either – but hey.  
  
“L-look, I-“  
  
I disengaged the key, then unlatched his seatbelt for him, because I wasn’t just his good friend, I was better than that. I’m his  _best_  friend! “’Ooh, look at me, I’m 21 and I live on the edge in a parking lot! But wait – safety first!’”  
  
“H-hmph.” He stepped out of the truck. I mean, hey, Lucian could’ve picked someone worse for me to race to the top with. Not that I thought I could even get halfway through.  
  
Either way, we were stuck here until we found a place we could buy some gas from in this town. With the influx of pansy-ass yuppies, that was going to be pretty easy. Y’know, as easy as stuffing three fingers in one nostril – and no, I’m not telling you to test that out on yourself, a friend, or even on a fucking Probopass. Jesus, that’s indecent.  
  
So I stepped out of the Bronco, too. There wasn’t any point in staying there, unless the two of us wanted to count how many stitches we could spot in the cabin. “So, what do we do now?” I asked, putting my sweatband back on.  
  
“We might as well be tourists, man. Let’s do what they do.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“Asking the locals, duh.”  
  
“We have phones, dickface.” I reached into my pocket. “We don’t need to do that. We can look it up.”  
  
“I didn’t charge mine, asswipe.” He held his phone up to my face. “Look, it’s dead.”  
  
“Luckily for us, I-“ I pressed on the phone’s power button. Nothing. I thought I might’ve pressed it wrong - it was a two-year old phone, and things break. So I pressed on it again, holding it this time. A buzz – and then a red battery symbol flashed on the screen. Dead, too. “Shit.”  
  
Alex began giggling. “Oh boy, I smell a misadven-“  
  
I sighed. “Oh, shut. Up.” I knew he’d salivate at the idea of that. You know, I think he just didn’t charge his phone the night before that hoping that I wouldn’t charge either, just so we could get lost in the first town we came across like this.  
  
But, oh well – you know what they say - (They don’t actually say this.) quality time is quality time.  
  
I started to make my way out of the parking lot – I was about halfway through when I noticed that he wasn’t following me. “Hey, Alex! You coming, or what?”  
  
“Wait up, L, I’ve got an idea, hold on,” he replied, moving from his spot. As he walked, I couldn’t help noticing that he reached into his belt, and pressed on something – a Pokeball, swelling up to the size of his palm.  
  
_The hell is he thinking?_  
  
“Hear me out, man.” He glanced at the ball in his hand, grinning.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re registered, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Just an hour ago.”  
  
He gave me a wry look. “Heh, if that’s the case…”  
  
“Alex, what are you-“  
  
He pressed on the capsule’s control button – he’d summoned a little blue thing with a beak. A Piplup, clapping its ‘wings’ together.  
  
I tried considering all the other reasons why he’d do that; but at that point I was pretty sure what he was asking for.  
  
Fuck, I just wished that he was kidding.  
  
He patted it on the head. “You ready, Allen?”  
  
“Oh, god…”  
  
“Man, you know I had to do it.” Alex shrugged, with a smirk. He then clapped his hands together, and exuberantly said, “Let’s go, c’mon!”  
  
I glanced at my backpack’s strap – Lia’s Pokeball was latched onto it, hanging off the leather lazily. I thought about it – she was going to have to fight things left and right sooner or later, but with her attitude, how was she going to start?  
  
I wouldn’t know until I tried. I took the capsule, and I swear, I stared at it for what was probably the longest twenty seconds of Alex’s life – who was already trying to look like his old man; arms crossed, wide-legged and all.  
  
“Okay,” I then started, facing him. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”


End file.
